


Let me (know)

by tyomawrites



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arne Needs A Hug, BrOTP - Leif & Arne, BrOTP Arne & Ragnar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 18:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18168734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites
Summary: “I’ve loved you for years.” Arne breathes, almost silent.Floki smiles, bright, soft and sweet and Arne’s heart melts.“So have we Arne.” Floki brushes a gentle hand through his hair. “Although I think Torstein has for longer than me.” Floki lets out a soft giggle, pressing his nose to Arne’s temple. “He’s afraid you hate him.” Floki murmurs soft.“I don’t.” And Arne doesn’t. He’s loved them. He loves them so much.





	Let me (know)

Arne’s been in love with his friends for as long as he can remember, from being young and running around with Torstein, after being teased for being smaller than everyone else, to running around with eccentric Floki because he and Floki were considered outcasts in their own rights. Of course Leif was there, one of his closest friends since birth, and Ragnar and Rollo, with their lean muscled frames already hinted at surprisingly taking interest in their group.

They’re fifteen when Arne realizes it’s actually love. Leif is talking to him about a girl he likes, with long dark hair and a cute button nose, and he realizes he can’t relate to what it feels like to love a girl, yes he's chased after them because they riled him up and interested him, but there isn’t a girl, that fits into the picture that Leif describes to him about.

Is there someone who makes you feel so special that you’d burn up from their touch? Torstein, Floki. He thinks in response.

Is there someone who’s so intoxicating you’d love to learn about every part of them? Floki, tall lean and always shaking Floki, who looks like he could break in the wind. Floki who smiles at him with something inhuman in his eyes, Floki who whispers and giggles and paints around his eyes to make himself look mysterious.

Is there someone you could trust so implicitly even if they weren’t your mother or father? Torstein, with his warm arms and firm frame, who hugs Arne when he’s scared while they’re out camping. Who stood by him at the Thing when he received his first armring.

Leif see the look of realization on his face, and watches as it turns into complete horror because he can’t love his friends like that. Can’t love his shield brothers like that. Leif is the one who calms him down from the panic that takes hold of his body, with tight arms around his shoulders and words whispered into his ears.

Arne is scared, so fucking scared. Lief asks him what’s wrong and he shakily asks, pleads, begs with Leif not to ask but spills the secret anyway when Leif looks so fucking worried. He’s a man, he’s a warrior, he will push down those thoughts and cast them aside, lest his parents find out and he is shunned but Leif just hugs him and tells him it'll be alright.

Turns out his parents aren’t so ashamed of him. He’s twenty one when he admits it to them. He’s become a bit of a ladies man with a bit of a reputation. Half of it is attributed to Torstein, Leif, Floki, Rollo and Ragnar’s presence around him. He’s short for his age still, but he’s got a lean, muscled build that could rival maybe Leif and Ragnar if he actually shows it off. 

They come to him with talks about settling down and he shakes his head sadly because he can’t. Deep down, he’s still in love with Torstein and Floki, he loves Torstein’s strength, his passion. He loves Floki’s ability to be himself, to unashamedly worship the gods and himself equally. 

His mother asks him why and he, in a stroke of impulsivity mentions why. She looks at him with a mix of sadness and a knowing smile, like she’s seen it all along. They hug him tight, the both of them, their arms around his shoulders and they tell him that they still love him. He goes to bed early that night, avoiding his friends with an excuse of family matters, but Leif gives him a look like he knows better as he turns to shut his door to their home after he comes knocking.

He goes to bed happy, at least his family and Leif won’t hate him

Arne is twenty one and a half when he loses his eye. His first raid and he comes back missing an eyeball, a large scar that spans across from his cheekbone to the top of his forehead. He hates it, hates himself. 

Torstein laughs at him and calls him dignified. Leif calls him a warrior teasingly before retreating a safe distance away from his one eyed glare. Rollo is tight-lipped and stares out over the sea while Ragnar pats his shoulder and praises him. Floki looks at him like he can see the self-hatred bleeding out of him.

Later that night, or it’s one of the nights, Arne can’t really remember, their on the ship, sailing back into Kattegat. Floki slinks down next to him, a tangle of limbs wrapped in a shawl and blanket. Floki drops a hand to his knee and leans in so close, with a soft brush of lips across the cut on his forehead (it’s so soft Arne thinks he dreamed it). 

“You don’t have to hate yourself.” Floki whispers to him, his voice is so quiet Arne almost misses it. “You proved yourself a warrior.” Floki hugs the blanket around him tighter. Arne remembers when the older warriors scoffed at Floki’s lean frame doubting him in a fight and sighs, leaning closer to Floki for the unusual amount of warmth he radiates and he leans his head on Floki’s shoulder.

“It’s not that I’m worried about.” And it’s not. He was attractive with both his eyes, and as he thought he at least looked good. He thought he had a damn chance with either one of his friends. Now he's One-eyed, not Arne, not desirable. He frowns, dropping his head downwards.

Floki’s hand is soft on his cheek. Floki thumbs over his cheekbone, barely grazing the cut on his flesh. “Don’t hate yourself.” He whispers. “You’re too good for it.” And then Floki leans in and kisses the cut on his cheek. 

Arne to this day, still thinks he dreamt it.

His reputation as a ladies man recedes, although his skill with a bow seems to be unbeaten, even with one eye. He spent a whole six months rehabilitating himself into the village, learning to walk around without walking into things, learning to fight again, to compensate for his skewed depth perception. Funnily enough, it was his archery that didn’t suffer one bit.

Torstein takes up archery with him an attempt to keep him company, while he appreciates, he doesn’t actually want Torstein to do it. It’s the one thing he has now that doesn't make him hate himself. Arne, One-Eye, best archer in Kattegat. At the age of twenty-two he doesn’t have girlfriends, doesn’t care about it anymore. He strives to be the best at what he can be good at. He still hates being One-Eye, but it’s not so bad when his archery skills impress Torstein and Floki while they’re training, or camping.

He’s twenty five when he’s coming home one night. Giggling catches his attention. Arne isn’t drunk, not even close, he just had to help Ragnar carry Rollo home while Lief was off with his girlfriend. He spots Torstein’s tall frame in the entrance of one of the alleyways, pressing someone into the wall. Some girl then, another one of Torstein’s conquests.

His chest aches a bit, but he’s used to it, used to the numerous girls Torstein has flings with. He stands there, waiting for a moment, for something, he doesn’t know what. He’s just about to leave, because spying on your friends is wrong, when Torstein pulls away from whoever he’s with. A familiar lean frame slides out from against him, short hair and long limbs and he feels his heart sink to the pit of his stomach.

Floki pulls Torstein down by the hair that frames his face and kisses him, unashamed and freely. Arne stumbles back, fists clutching at his long sleeves and hides around the corner, until he’s sure neither of them are there anymore and he rushes home. He waves past his mother, ignores the nervousness on his father’s face. Suddenly a lot of it makes sense. Torstein and Floki muttering together in the firelight. Torstein and Floki giggling about something or rather, about Helga the girl they both seem to like. Torstein and Floki next to each other on every raid they’ve been on in spring.

He know he shouldn’t be heartbroken, what right did he have to be that. His mother knocks on the door as he sobs. He doesn’t mean to yell at her, his voice thick with anger and sadness. Her voice softens and he knows she’s leaning against the wood listening to him cry. He tells him through the door that they will be waiting for him when he’s ready to talk. He appreciates it and tells her as much, before he politely asks her if he can be alone. 

Leif comes around the next day knocking at his door. He knows because his mother tells him. He tells her through the door with his voice hoarse. He doesn’t want to see any of his friends other than Leif, and asks her to let him in.

“Fuck Arne.” Leif’s voice is dangerously soft as he takes in the mess he’s made of his room. The kind of tone he gets when he’s so worried and angry because he wants to get rid of whatever hurt his friends. Arne shrinks in on himself, his small frame getting smaller as he wipes at his red-rimmed eye. “Have you been crying?” 

When he nods, Leif kneels next to him, pushing closed the bedroom door and hugging him to his chest.

“What happened?” 

He shakes against Leif, crying again. When he catches his breath and wipes at his eye again, Leif looks about as heartbroken as he feels.

“Was walking back from Ragnar and Rollo’s last night. Heard something ‘nd saw Torstein.” He sniffles, wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his tunic. “Floki kissed ‘im.” Leif’s face drops and before he knows it, Arne is gathered up and being dragged onto the bed and being propped against Leif’s chest.

“I’m sorry Arne.” Leif whispers into his ear. “I’m so sorry.” Because Leif is the only one who knows how deep this runs. Ten years he’s forced down an important part of himself because he was afraid he’d lose two of the people he cared about the most. Now, the fear has more fuel to add to the fire.

“I can’t look at them.” His fingers shake against Leif’s chest. His whole body is shaking, from fear, anxiety, heartbreak. His throat is blocked a dry lump that he can barely feel.

“I’ll keep them away for as long as I can.” Leif promises into his hair. Eventually Leif has to leave, but it’s well past dinner time when he does. Arne follows him down the steps to the door, hugs him again when he says goodbye. His mother waits in the kitchen doorway until Leif leaves, before she’s hugging him so tightly he thinks he’ll break.

“Ragnar, Rollo and Leif.” He says softly. “They’re allowed to come in.” Because Rollo and Ragnar don’t even know and it isn’t fair to them to shut them out. He feels bad about it, because Torstein and Floki are he closes friends aside from Leif, but his hurt outweighs his guilt by miles.

Soon enough, Ragnar and Rollo are at his bedroom door. It’s been a week and a half since Leif had heard what happened and held him as he cried.

“We heard you were sick.” So that’s what his mother has been telling his friends. 

“So we brought you soup and presents.” Rollo smiles and holds out said things. He smiles, although it’s a bit forced and lets them inside. Eventually, he’s sprawled on his mattress, a head pillowed on Ragnar’s thigh, Rollo having gone home for one of his lessons, with a promise he’d be back. Ragnar is playing with his hair, a habit they never broke out of from when they were younger.

“What’s really going on with you Arne, you're not really sick, but your mother's been chasing us away this whole week?” Ragnar asks softly fingers still stroking through his hair. He can’t really lie to Ragnar, Ragnar has a way of pulling the truth out of him, with his blue eyes and smile as wide as the sea.

“Had my heart broken.” He tries to say nonchalantly as he can although he can't stop the way how whole body starts to shake. He’s always been sensitive to things, skittish, waiting for the other shoe to drop. His mother’s always told him that his impulsivity will get him into a bit of trouble. Ragnar’s fingers pause in their stroke, before he continues again, still gently stroking through his hair.

“And who was it that broke your heart?” Ragnar’s voice is still soft. Anxiety wells in his chest and he makes to move, only, Ragnar’s hand drops onto his chest to stop him. “It’s okay.” He soothes. “You don’t have to tell me who they are, just tell me why.” Ragnar runs a hand over his chest and soothes him until Arne is pliant against him once more.

“I love them, they love someone else.” Is the simplest way he can put it. He loves Floki and Torstein, Floki and Torstein are together, with each other, and not, will never be, with Arne. It makes him feel inadequate again, like when he lost his eye. Except this time he won’t have Floki comfort him in the middle of the night with soft kisses.

Except Ragnar kisses his forehead, his lips in a soft brush across his hairline (he supposes that’s where Floki got it from) and Ragnar ruffles his hair affectionately to offer him some comfort and it kind of works. They drowsily daze in bed together. Ragnar petting his hair and singing something softly to him. Ragnar only leaves when Leif comes over to take his place, slotting Arne as he mumbles, half asleep onto his lap. Ragnar smiles down at him and softly bids him a goodbye. He waves back lazily and Leif continues the soothing feel of fingers stroking through his hair.

In the end, he can’t afford to avoid Torstein or Floki for much longer. His parents are out at the festival. As is Rollo, as is Ragnar, as is Leif with his girlfriend, no one is around to warn him who’s at the door. 

Torstein grins at him when he pulls it open, only it’s halfhearted and lasts a second before Arne is trying to slam the door shut. Arne does the only think he can think of. He runs.

He runs back up the stairs and towards his room, slamming his bedroom door shut and bolting the door, breathing heavily as he hides his face in his hands. He gasps, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“Arne.” Torstein calls through the door. 

Arne sinks down to the floor against the wood of the door, trying to take deep breaths. He trembles against the door, against the floor, tries to think straight. He can’t run anywhere, he can’t call out for anyone. He can’t do anything and he’s scared. He’s scared that if he talks to Torstein, talks he’ll tell the truth. He doesn’t want to see disappointment, rejection, hate —?— in Torstein’s eyes when he finds out the truth.

“Arne please.” A soft thump follows the words, and then Torstein’s voice sounds closer to his ear, like he’s sitting back to back with Arne instead of standing over him. “You’re one of my closest friends, I haven’t seen you in two weeks.” Torstein says through the door. “I know you’re not sick, I saw you down at the beach with Ragnar and Leif.” 

Arne feels sick, swallowing at the lump in his throat. It was a mistake to go to the beach. He'd been skittish the whole time and Ragnar and Leif spent more time comforting him than having fun. He'd been worried sick about running into Floki or Torstein. Ragnar had been adamant on getting some fresh air and he'd ended up panicking and forgetting how to breath to the point he'd collapsed in the sand. 

Ragnar and Leif had looked so terrified when he went pale.

“Arne please?”

“Go.” He mumbles, just barely audible.

“Arne?” Another creak of the wooden floorboards. 

“Go away Torstein.” His voice is swamped with fear, anxiety, something close to tears.

“Arne please!” Torstein sounds desperate. 

“Please just go!” He doesn’t mean to raise his voice. It rings out in the room, through the door. There’s the sound of a defeated thunk, like Torstein’s dropped his forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry Arne. Whatever I’ve done. I’m sorry.” Torstein says through the door. Arne bodily shakes, fingers curling into his sleeves as he hides his face. He doesn’t come out until the next morning. There’s bags under his eye, it’s red-rimmed, rubbed raw by the heel of his palm. He’s scratched his arms with his nails until they’ve bled, not intentionally but he just couldn’t stop.

He’s hurting, physically, emotionally. He doesn’t want to be alone. His parents give him a sad look and reveal that they have to leave the village for a small trip. They wouldn’t be gone for more than a month. Arne trembles, his bottom lip quivers but he doesn’t ask them to stay.

“I’ll stay with Ragnar and Rollo.” He offers. “Or Leif.” 

His mother smiles at him, grateful that he still has three of his five friends.

“Hmm. Head over there later today muppet?” She runs her hands through his hair and kisses his forehead.

So he does, the afternoon sun rises and he sneaks his way down to the Sigurdsson household, smiles at Ragnar and Rollo’s mother as she answers the door.

“They aren't here Arne.” She says softly, because usually when he drops by he’s looking for them.

“Oh. I just came to ask. My parents will be away for a month.” 

“And they've asked you to stay with us?” She drops a hand on his shoulder. “I understand, you've had a rough few weeks haven't you Arne?” He likes Ragnar and Rollo’s mother. She's kind to him and doesn't judge how skittish he is about everything.

“You're welcome to stay with us. And I'm sure you wouldn't want to be around Leif while he's with his girlfriend.” She teases in a friendly manner. “Go and tell your mother.”

He does. She pats his shoulder and continues to pack her things along with his father's. 

“Do you want to stay until we leave?” He shakes his head slowly. If he packs now, then he can take his things over to the Sigurdsson household before anyone realizes he's gone there.

Ragnar and Rollo drop by his house,  they help him carry mostly clothes over, his axe and his shield and a few other small things he doesn't want to leave in his house and then they set up a mattress between their beds. How they still share a room Arne doesn't know?

“You feeling better?” Ragnar asks as he spreads out the thin canvas blanket over the mattress. they've shoved his things under Ragnar’s bed to make things fit. it's a tight squeeze, the three of them in one room, but until either of the move out, they won't be going anywhere.

“Mostly?” Arne lifts his head eyeing Ragnar. His friend has a grin, a sliver of teeth showing on his face

“so Lagertha is going to be at the masked festival tomorrow night.” Ragnar muses, leaning forward on his hands as he flops onto his own mattress.

Arne hums laying his head back against the wooden frame of Ragnar’s bed before the realization of what Ragnar’s musing is. “No.” he protests as Ragnar’s grin grows wider. 

In the end he's wearing a barn owl mask, the slots around his eyes so small that they don't give away that he is in fact Arne One-Eye. the mask is big enough to cover the scar across his forehead. Ragnar pulls his hair back, styles it so it's out of his face and shaves what little stubble he had across his chin and when he looks in the mirror he doesn't recognize himself with or without the mask on. He smiles, just barely, into the mirror and catches Ragnar looking smug behind him

“You don’t look too bad One-Eye.” Ragnar teases, but the words are soft and not just playful as he leans out to ruffle his hair. He smiles back as Ragnar slings an arm around his shoulder and begins to talk about Lagertha and what mask she might wear tonight.

 

* * *

 

The festival is a bad idea. Ragnar steers him over to a group of people he knows and leaves him there gone off to chase Lagertha in her wolf mask and he in his matching mask. He dances with a few people. A tall girl with an eagle mask, another with a wolf, a bear mask lingers or a moment and arne is too occupied with the ale in his cup than he is with the people in front of him.

An owl mask sidles up to him, with yellow netting over the eyes, long limbs and a head hidden behind a deliberately made hood. The owl and it's owner slides a hand across the small if his back and takes his hand and pulls him into the crowd of people. Whoever they are, dances against him, twisting their body against him. 

As the night drags on. Arne’s less skittish, he stops flinching at every shadow in his peripheral vision. There’s a hint of a smile under his stranger’s mask, just where it stops on their face. Whoever it is is taller than him, towering over him. For once, for the first time, since he spotted Torstein and Floki together he’s not thinking about it. Whoever it is in front of him is intoxicating.

Their hands drag across his waist, tease him with soft fingers across his hips. They drag him close, their masks brush against each other. “Hello.” He mumbles breathily. He stares up at whoever it is, wide-eyed behind his mask as his mystery dancer circles him and touches him with light fingers.

The stranger tilts their head down at him and raises his hand, wiggling his fingers in a small wave. They dance, they bump into Ragnar, his arms around a laughing Lagertha. Leif rolls around with his girlfriend, his haircut gives him away almost instantly, holding a hand out in a wave to him. His stranger doesn’t speak much, hasn’t actually said a word at all in the few hours they’ve been dancing together, but is willing to keep touching him over and over again while they dance.

“Arne!” He hears Ragnar call out for him, just as he slings his arms around his stranger’s waist. The stranger freezes, as does Arne. He spins around towards Ragnar, whose mask is propped onto his forehead. A hand drops onto his shoulder, it grips onto his shoulder and tugs him to their chest. 

“Arne?” His stranger whispers, for the first time since they started dancing, surprise in his voice.

Suddenly it feels like the walls are closing in on him, except there are no walls and the music gets too loud and too quiet all at the same time. He shakes, darting his gaze around the festival. “Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, he swallows the dry lump in his throat and pulls away from his stranger. 

His hands shake first, as he scrambles to rip his mask off of his face and breathe. He does the best thing that he can do when he’s feeling overwhelmed. He pushes past Ragnar’s worried face, pushes through people —people that  he knows people that he doesn’t recognize, everyone —and runs, runs towards the trees that surround Kattegat, that will hide him. His feet thud through the dirt, as he abandons his mask somewhere in the street.

His first crash through the trees has him stumbling to a stop. The forest is dewey in cold, his boots brush through the grass. It’s so quiet out there, there’s nothing around him, nothing everywhere. A branch creaks behind him, he spins around. His stranger is standing there, the mask and hood still firmly on his head.

“What do you want?” He instinctively drops his fingers to belt, looking for his axe even though he knows it isn’t there. Ragnar told him not too, it was just a party, why would he need it. 

“Arne.” His stranger sways and steps closer. His stranger says his name with so much familiarity.

“Who are you?” Arne tries for a smile. They’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded but nothing but trees, nothing but cool air and silence. His stranger strides up to him, grazes his fingers on the side of his face. 

“Hmm Arne.” He whispers. “Beautiful Arne.” He croons and leans in. His stranger circles him, presses against his back and Arne can feel the press of his mask against his shoulder. He whimpers from the touch of fingers on the back of his neck. He turns his head to look at his stranger, following until they’re face to face again. “Where have you been?” They lean in, the mask still firm on their face. Arne can’t even see his eyes.

Then the stranger giggles, in a way he knows all too well, the sound is ingrained in his mind. Arne’s hand moves with a mind of his own, snatching the owl mask from Floki’s face. The tremors in his fingers returns, as his fingers hold the mask. Nausea wells in the pit of his stomach, crashes into him and pushes the breath from his chest.

“What the fuck Floki?” It’s torn between an exclamation and a gasp. Floki, crazed, unashamed, the one who kissed Torstein—Floki, is his stranger. Floki who was with Torstein, Floki who’s playing him like a toy.

He yanks himself away.

“You’ve been avoiding us Arne.” Floki rubs his fingers together, stepping further into his personal space. Arne frowns, shaking, his eyes dart around them, searching for a way out of the mess he’d put himself in. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He feigns innocence, looking away from Floki. Floki who steps closer to him until their chests are almost a hair’s breadth away from each other. Floki grips onto his bicep and holds him still, holds him in place. His free and comes up to stroke the side of his face, across his scar and clean-shaven jaw.

“Me and Torstein.” Floki hums, “You’ve been avoiding us, ignoring us even.” 

“N-No, I haven’t.” He stammers.

“You have Arne.” Floki leans in with curious eyes, until he’s just an inch away. “Been hiding from us, running away from us, you ran away from him, and me.” Floki squeezes his fingers around his bicep pointedly.

“It’s not that.” He tries to defend feebly, his smaller frame shaking. He steps back, only for Floki to pull him close again.

“Then tell me.” Floki’s eyes narrow, dragging him in.

Arne shivers, as a breeze blows through the trees. He averts his eyes, drips his face away from Floki’s. Searches desperately for a distraction to not admit what he’s been hiding.

“I can’t.” He whispers. Floki grips his cheek and tips his jaw upwards to meet his eyes.

“Yes you can.” Floki insists. “We’ve been friends for years Arne.”

That’s the problem. They’ve been friends for years and Arne can’t lose them now, either of them, both of them. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to when Floki is holding onto him tightly and they’re in the silence of the trees.

“Did we do something?” Floki asks bluntly, abandoning any glimmer of laughter in his voice. “Did someone do something?”

“N-No.” Arne shakes his head. He moves, closer to Floki by an inch, raises his hand to touch Floki’s shoulder because he missed it, being able to touch his friends. “It’s difficult I..”

Floki ducks down, his hands tight around his bicep and Floki kisses him. A quick nip of teeth on his bottom lip, a firm press of his lips before Floki pushes his tongue into his mouth as it parts with a stunned gasp. Floki kisses, invades, he pushes Arne back until they’re pressed against a tree.

Floki inhales him and devours him, kisses him with passion and a giggle in his throat. Arne kisses back, letting Floki in, want rises through him and curls like tendrils. Floki’s pressed flush against him, lining up their bodies up to fit together. Arne clutches onto him, drags his hands across Floki’s waist and his hips and feels.

Floki makes a noise in the back of his throat and Arne freezes, realization squashes down his want, as well as a large wave of shame that crashes into him. He’s kissing Floki, his friend. Floki who was kissing Torstein only a few weeks earlier, Floki who has to  _ know _ .

He shoves Floki away, breathing heavily from the kiss, gasping. He shakes, trembles like a leaf in the wind and tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Floki looks at him wide eyed with concern, stares at him. “I can’t, we can’t.”

“Arne-” Floki starts.

He shakes his head almost violently. “I can’t, you don’t understand!” He raises his voice. He’s already made one mistake, letting this even drag out with Floki, now Floki knows and if Floki knows then Torstein knows and his friends are playing with him like he’s a toy and he doesn’t want that.

“I won’t do this. I won’t get between you, the both of you. ” Arne trembles, turns away and back, lost. He wants to run away, wants to leave Floki in amongst the trees. 

“Both of us.” Floki chuckles and a smile splits across his cheeks. “Torstein and I have been worried for you, you ignore us and spend time with Leif and Rollo and Ragnar.” Floki leans over him. “We love you Arne, so tell us what is wrong.”

The words ring in his ears, Floki and Torstein...love? Him? Surely it doesn’t mean what he means. Surely it doesn’t mean what Arne’s been hiding in his heart for the last ten years. Anger wells up in him, why should he run and hide if he’s been doing it for so long. He punches Floki, impulsively, slams his knuckles on the line of Floki’s jaw, still shaking as he pulls away. “What game are you playing with me Floki?”

Floki spits into the grass, rubbing at his jaw. “Do you think so little of us Arne?” Floki stares at him, sharp eyed, there’s a hint of confusion in his brow, like he can’t possibly figure out why Arne is scared, angry, upset. “What’s the matter with you?” He frowns.

“What’s the matter with me?” Arne replies bluntly, as if it hasn’t been obvious this entire time. “I’m not just someone to be seduced for a bit of  _ fun _ Floki. I don’t want  _ fun  _ for the love of the gods. I’ve loved you both for years!” He spills, chest heaving, from fear, indignation, anger.

Floki’s expression has entirely changed. He’s no longer slouched, leaning with a hand on his jaw and staring at Arne. He’s wide eyed, the lines on his face soft with his back straight. Arne thinks it’s the only time he’s ever seen Floki still for more than a second.

“Arne.” Floki whispers his name and it carries with the next breeze. “Arne that’s not what we want.” Floki reaches out to touch him. Arne can’t run anymore. His shoulders sag against the tree, he leans against the bark and lets Floki touch him gently. Floki traces his fingers over the lines of his face, across his scar, his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose and his mouth. Floki presses light fingers to the corner of his lips and grips his chin to pull him in.

Floki kisses him again but this time it’s gentle, chaste, innocent even. Arne lets him, moves an inch in response before Floki pulls away and brackets him against the tree.

“We thought you knew.” Floki whispers against his mouth.

“About what?” Arne mumbles, confused, concerned.

“That we were enamoured with you.” Floki says it like it was the most obvious thing on Midgard. “You’ve always been kind and beautiful Arne.” Floki’s hand caresses his cheek. “Torstein and I, we both believed that, and we thought that if we.” Floki’s brow furrows like he’s trying to find the right words. “Tried to approach, you’d return our affections.” 

“I’ve loved you for years.” Arne breathes, almost silent. 

Floki smiles, bright, soft and sweet and Arne’s heart melts. 

“So have we Arne.” Floki brushes a gentle hand through his hair. “Although I think Torstein has for longer than me.” Floki lets out a soft giggle, pressing his nose to Arne’s temple. “He’s afraid you hate him.” Floki murmurs soft.

“I don’t.” And Arne doesn’t. He’s loved them. He loves them so much. 

“We should find him.” Floki whispers to him and holds his hand out in invitation. Arne pauses, looking down at his hand. He lifts his eyes back to FLoki’s face, finding only a soft sincere smile across his lips. 

“Alright.” He nods, reaching out for Floki’s hand. Floki’s fingers wrap around his own, not in a tight embrace but it’s secure. “We find him.”

“I know exactly where he would be.” Floki turns, his hand still in Arne’s as he begins to walk back towards the village.

Floki does indeed know where they’re going, because he forgoes going back to the festival, skipping Torstein’s house and heading straight for the beach. Surprisingly, Torstein is there, sitting with his arms around his knees in the sand, looking out at the moonlight over the horizon.

“Torstein.” Floki calls out. His voice isn’t particularly loud but it carries over the silence.

Torstein’s head lifts, hair falling over his eyes before the strands are simply swiped away with a firm brush of his hand. His eyes fall on Floki’s first, gentle, and then they find Arne’s in the quasi-darkness and surprise fills them.

Arne hesitates in the sand once they reach him, half standing behind Floki with their hands still grasping each other. 

“Arne.” Torstein’s voice is soft, almost fragile as he reaches out towards him. Torstein pauses and pulls his hand back, unsure.

“Hi.” He says shyly, dumbly. Now that he’s faced with Torstein he doesn’t actually know what to do. Does he explain his behaviour straight away? Is there something Torstein wants to say? “You can touch me.” He adds right after. Because Torstein can and he’s missed Torstein touching him.

Torstein reaches out and touches his wrist gently, and then circles his wrist and pulls him into a tight hug. Arne buries his face into his chest, breathing in deeply, shaking again even though he thought he would’ve stopped. Nervousness bites at the pit of his stomach as Torstein finally pulls away and looks down at him.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out, staring up at Torstein. His friend pauses, wide eyed before his mouth parts. “I’m sorry for running away and avoiding you.” Arne continues, meeting Torstein’s eyes. “I was scared and I didn’t know what to do and I ran away instead of talking to you.” He sends a quick glance over to Floki. “To the both of you.” 

Torstein rubs his hands up and down his arms, still looking down at him with a half expression of disbelief, like he can’t really believe that Arne is standing right in front of him. 

“I love you.” Arne adds, quieter. Torstein’s eyes widen and his lips part.

“How long?” Torstein’s fingers curl around his wrists, holding them loosely. 

“Since we were fifteen.” He admits, looking over at Floki who’s hovering over the both of them, moving closer. 

“You didn’t have to be scared.” Torstein says so softly. Torstein wraps his arms around Arne, presses his lips to his hairline and hugs him. Arne presses his face into his chest, inhales as deeply as he can before he lifts his head to look at Torstein. Slowly he leans in. Torstein’s breath hitches. 

Arne smiles, genuine, bright, and he slots his lips against Torstein’s and relaxes in Torstein’s arms. Torstein kisses back hesitantly, like he’s afraid of breaking Arne. Torstein’s hands are chastely pressed onto his back, still and not wandering anywhere. Arne plants his hands onto Torstein’s chest and smiles. 

“I love the both of you.” Arne whispers in a small gasp when Torstein pulls away. Floki giggles next to them and Torstein chuckles softly. Floki reaches out to touch one of his hands and takes it in his. Torstein turns to look back at the water.

Before he knows it, Floki and Torstein are tugging him down into the sand, sandwiching him between them with both his hands in theirs. Floki lays his head on Arne’s shoulder, and Torstein uses one arm to wrap around the both of them while the other is curled around Arne’s fingers.

“We love you too.” Torstein says firmly, surely, definitely. The waves roll in softly against the sand, steadily flowing back and forth. The stars twinkle above the three of them, as the clouds settle with slinking across the moon slowly.

“We do.” Floki confirms, playing with his fingers.

Arne hums, squeezing both their hands.

He’s in love with them too.


End file.
